Why do I call you that
by Arete Panthar
Summary: With the end of the war coming, Briseis reflects upon how she came to be a part of it, and upon its changes.


Hello! This is the English version of a story in Portuguese (Por que eu te chamo assim), so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes. This story has a melancholic tone, I had the idea to write it listenning to a song called Quinto andar (Fifth floor), that is sung by Brazilian singer Tiê. I put it like fragments (in italic), as if they were the soundtrack to Briseis's thoughts, helping to describe how she feels. I know a translated song is not the same as the original one, but in somes cases I guess it's worth the shot :) Normally I think of Briseis' relationship with Achilles as one of afection, but I also thought it was good to write something from a little less optimistic point of view.

If you guys are interested, there are another stories I wrote about the Illiad, **Um dia depois da batalha** and **Cantai, mancebos!** They are both in Portuguese, maybe I'll translate them.

Hope you enjoy!

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It had been a long time since the end of the truce of twelve days. Achaeans and Trojans had come back to fighting themselves, the Achaeans trying to make the Trojans go back to the walls, and the Trojans trying to make the Achaeans flee to the ships. The days taken by the blind fury seemed now to be the distant murmur of the sea, even though it only preceded a greater fury. That Briseis could feel. When the walls of Troy were finally taken, the men would be taken by the spirit of Ares in all its heat.

In spite of that, in the days when the heat of battle was less intense, her thoughts came back to Achilles. And to how distant he was from her.

_When I looked up and didn't see you,_

_I didn't know what to do,_

_I turned and told that stranger_

_That I liked you._

She couldn't foresee that she would like the invader that assaulted her city and brought her as a captive. Yes, as a captive, as a prey of war, but who wasn't treated with dishonor. Enchanted by her beauty, he treated her with tenderness.

And she had to confess to herself that she liked him.

But it was also her beauty which attracted Agamemnon's eyes, who took her from Achilles. And so nights and dawns followed one another away from him… and beyond the time that she spent with Agamemnon.

_Oh, oh_

_Could it have been this way_

_Could it have been time that took you away from me_

Was it only time that had made him distant from her?

_And he hesitated for a moment,_

_But then he couldn't resist,_

_He told me a thousand balloons_

_Was what he had seen._

_I thought, "It's not possible that I didn't notice,_

_I must be completely senseless."_

From Patroclus' death to Hector's death, there was no safe place for her. Because

Achilles' wrath kept anyone from being unworried around him. And she, the prize that had been taken by Agamemnon, which made Achilles left the battle and Patroclus go in his place and be slained by Hector, even though her will could do nothing to cause or prevent all of this from happening, she knew she was defenseless against the wrath of her cherished lord, although she also shared his pain.

_I took almost five steps and stopped,_

_I couldn't walk backwards,_

_But I confess, there was no way to see so many signs. _

For who could foresee how great would Achilles' wrath be?

But it didn't harm her. It treated her with coldness. In the days before the fight with Hector, it was like Briseis had never existed. And after Hector's body was returned, after the homicide, unreasonable fury was pacified, the grief and the desire that it all ended, fed by Achilles, remained. He had a vague look in his eyes for all the rest – including her.

_Hello, I know_

_If it gets here, _

_Then in the limit there's no way to give up._

She knew she would not renounce to what she felt. But neither could she ignore that to feel this way was a hard work.

_Love, why do I call you that,_

_If certainly you don't even remember me_

If certainly she is nothing more than a blurred memory to him, or too distant to mean something now.

_Love, why do I call you that,_

_If certainly you don't even remember me, oh, oh_

But even so she still likes him… she just asks herself if it has to be this way, such a lonely liking…

_Love, why do I call you that,_

_If certainly you don't even remember me…_


End file.
